


Tag, You're It

by Rebldomakr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Parenting, Dark Harry, Death Eater Harry Potter, Imagine a place ruled by Voldemort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of genocide, Non-Graphic Violence, Poor Muggles, The Dark Lord Won, Was Going to be longer but nope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebldomakr/pseuds/Rebldomakr
Summary: It wasn’t easy to forget about your mother coming home late on her day off because she was out with 'friends', the noise of firewhiskey bottles clanging against each other when his godfather took out the trash because no one else had bothered, and the aroma of copper and rot that permeated the air because the Dark Lord even touched the village of Godric’s Hollow. Even if there were no Dementors patrolling the streets at night, Harry doubted he would have happy dreams.





	Tag, You're It

_Tag, You’re It_

**I.**

It wasn’t easy to forget about your mother coming home late on her day off because she was _out with friends_ , the noise of firewhiskey bottles clanging against each other when his godfather took out the trash because no one had bothered to yet, and the aroma of copper and rot that permeated the air because the Dark Lord even touched the village of Godric’s Hollow. Even if there were no Dementors patrolling the streets at night, Harry doubted he would have happy dreams.

Life hadn’t always been this way. Harry remembered when they walked until they found the perfect spot to have a picnic, the family cat trailing after to be served a bowl of tuna while they ate sandwiches and drank pumpkin juice. The smell of pumpkins nauseate Harry at best now, when he used to pull on his mother’s leg until she poured him another glass of the foul-smelling, foul-tasting juice.

Then at some point, the Dark Lord grew too strong. The Ministry of Magic fell and Hogwarts was no more a safe place. Albus Dumbledore died at the hands of You-Know-Who and whatever resistance was left, was slowly picked off or forced into submission for the sake of their loved ones. The Dark Lord and His  Death Eaters made it obvious that there were worse things than death. The bodies of muggles left without souls that’d just exist until they died, where they would lay dead until someone bothered to bury them was a kinder option than what they were capable of.

Things got even worse when Peter Pettigrew betrayed them and Remus Lupin was captured by Fenrir Greyback. Harry’s father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes anymore. His godfather managed to keep things together, the only one in his life who was still _there._ His mother no longer told him to smile, or comforted him when she passed by his bedroom door and heard crying. Harry wished he could say he loved his parents, but that had gone away a long time away. Resentment filled most of the space of where he was once happy.

Harry could find joy in some things. When he was with his godfather, of course, who taught him magic. It was his godfather who had sneaked him into Diagon Alley to get his first wand, see, and the one who snatched up the Hogwarts letter before his parents could burn it. “You’ll get there, I swear.” Sirius had sworn. “I don’t care who runs the place.” And, truly, he found joy at Hogwarts. Headmaster Snape was foul, Harry learned his routine to know how to avoid him, but he enjoyed his classes. He excelled.

The results of his first year exams came carried by a snowy owl that Harry fed bacon to, wishing he could get an owl of his own. There was plenty money to purchase an owl, but his mother told him he was too young for an owl to call his own.

“An O in Dark Arts.” His mother muttered, dropping the letter onto the kitchen table. “But an A in History of Magic. Maybe you could change your priorities.” She said. “We could teach you better things here, you know.”

“Lily, let him go to Hogwarts.” His father said. He peered at the letter and smiled. “An O in Transfiguration, too! Good job, Harry.” He had swollen bags under his eyes and his breath smelt strongly of liquor.

It was no secret they didn’t like him going to Hogwarts. Somehow, Sirius had convinced them and Harry was too scared to question anything much. For all he knew, the permission was hanging off of a thread and could be broken if he dared place the strain of a “Why?” on it.

“I’ve changed shifts at the store. I’ll be working the nights now.” His mother said.

Harry said he was done with his breakfast and left the kitchen, before he could see the evolution of Lily and James Potter’s latest fight. He took the exam results and escaped the cottage.

**II.**

He was a diligent student. Harry was in the half of the Gryffindor House that didn’t care much about who ran the school. He often came at odds of the other half’s leader, Ron Weasley, who accused him of being a traitor. Everyone knew the stories of James Potter, the once-great Auror who had killed twenty Death Eaters before signing neutrality when the Dark Lord killed Albus Dumbledore. They still thought he was a good wizard, even though he now worked at the _new_ Ministry of Magic as a ‘proper’ citizen of the new world. They thought he should be like him, rebel against the Dark Lord and what He controlled. Regardless of what they thought, though, Harry was very apathetic to it all. He knew he wanted to make his godfather proud and the best way to do so was to find a place in the new world and live a pleasant life. It all began with good grades.

First year courses included Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Defensive Magic. At the end of year exams, he’d managed to pull in five Outstanding’s, one Exceeds Expectations, and one Acceptable. In his second year, the courses remained the same with the addition bi-monthly lessons for Arithmancy and Healing Arts. He had managed to get an Exceeds Expectations on an early-O.W.L. exam for Astronomy and Herbology before he’d left for the holidays, before his third year. He was able to choose four electives, including Healing Arts as a full, complete course. 

Academically, he excelled. Socially, he was a failure. His record was also filled with incidents when he ‘back talked’ to a professor, attacked another student, got into a non-permitted duel, and broke curfew. Nonetheless, his godfather was quite proud of him and secretly bought him an owl, one he would name Hedwig, for his fourteenth birthday. His mother had torn up his third year exam results after reading a note from a professor complimenting his ability in the Dark Arts.

The first time someone actually spoke to him with kindness, perhaps even with the desire to become friends, was in his fourth year. Draco Malfoy, who he’d punched in his first year, paired himself up with Harry in their Dark Arts class.

“Hanging around _them_ , now, are you?” Ron Weasley spat at him later.

Harry, who could admit to himself that he had a slight temper, reacted impulsively. He used Weasley as target practice until he was disarmed by Professor Crouch and sent to the Headmaster’s office, where he was thoroughly scolded, two hundred points removed from the Gryffindor House, and given a month’s worth of detention with Crouch.

He had always found happiness being at Hogwarts. Away from his parents, in a world where he could lock himself away in an unused classroom or in the library, it was _nice_. Then, Harry had begun to make friends. First was Draco Malfoy, followed by others who saw it as permission to befriend the son of a former rebel.  He had never thought friendship was that important, then he felt the joy of it. He had never been aware of the loneliness he felt before and he was happy to drown himself in the company of others whenever he found he wasn’t working on his schoolwork.

**III.**

Harry had cast the Killing Curse for the first time in his fourth year. It was in June, two weeks before the end of year exams. He had already taken early-O.W.L. exams for History of Magic, so he could hopefully drop the course permanently, and there was little worry in his mind at the time. He had spent the previous night in the Slytherin common room, invited to see a seventh year’s freshly-stamped Dark Magic. It was something to be admired when the Dark Lord chose you to be a Death Eater [ _though Harry knew better than to tell that to either of his parents or even his godfather_ ].

 Professor Crouch taught them the basics of the spell and handed everyone a cage that contained a rat. “We will cover this spell only today.” He proclaimed. “Good luck.”

He had pointed his wand at the rat. He distantly remembered the man who could turn himself into a rat, and often did to amuse Harry himself. The others in the classroom were cautiously walking around their caged rats or shouting the curse, no one having succeeded yet. “Avada Kedavra.” He, unlike his peers, did not shout the spell or say it very much energy.

A bolt of green shot out and struck the rat. Its short legs collapsed, eyes motionless, completely limp. Dead. Harry had gotten the Killing Curse on the very first try.

“Merlin.” Professor Crouch was suddenly there, eyes wide and rabid. “Did you only cast that once?”

Harry nodded.

“Congratulations.” Crouch whispered, looking up from the dead rat to Harry. “I don’t believe anyone else has ever gotten the curse on the first try. Ten points to Gryffindor for your success, Mr. Potter.”

He would be the only one to successfully cast the spell that day. It made him very proud, though he couldn’t brag to his parents or to his godfather. Everyone knew by the end of the day, gossip spread like a wildfire in Hogwarts Castle. It probably shouldn’t have made his gleeful when Ron Weasley avoided him for a good week.

Coming home that year, Sirius picked him up from King’s Cross. Normally, his father came with. Harry wondered what had happened when it was only his godfather. He wanted to ask where he was, but he was also too scared to try to wonder what might’ve happened. The Dark Lord was about to declare war on France, everyone knew it, and maybe he’d decided to kill every known rebel, former and current, to be sure there’d be no problems. He had entered the cottage, greeted by the stony face of his mother and his father sitting in the living room nursing a glass of what looked like water but could’ve easily been vodka.

“They wrote a letter.” His mother said.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“Your success in Dark Arts.” Sirius muttered behind him, closing the front door.

“You cast the Killing Curse and got it right your first try, they said.” His mother stepped towards him. “Harry, is it true?”

He nodded. He wasn’t expecting the palm of her hand to come forward, smacking against his cheek and flinging his head to the side. He bit his tongue and blood quickly poured out, filling his mouth.

Anger surged. “Fuck you.” He spat, blood splattering out with his words. He shoved past her and went directly towards his room. He’d only come out when he heard his trunk being placed outside of the door.

**IV.**

Harry left his parent’s cottage when he was fourteen years old, in 1995, just a day after coming back from Hogwarts. His godfather helped him pack all of his things and moved him into the Black family home, 12 Grimmauld Place. He was given a bedroom and a House Elf named Kreacher, then left mostly alone. Sirius wouldn’t say it out loud, he loved him too much, but he was _disappointed_. He befriended the portrait of Sirius’ mother and the frail Elf that maintained the townhouse, in what felt like vengeance.

He tossed everything his parents had taught him out the window that day. He went to Diagon Alley, walking past the crumbling muggle city around him to get to Leaky Cauldron and the hidden entrance into the Wizarding district. He would obtain a job at Flourish and Blotts before the sun began to set. By the end of the summer, he had befriended the other workers at the store and many of the usual patrons. He had been ignorant of an entire world, the boom and surplus that filled the Wizarding World under the Dark Lord had never been seen by his eyes.

The anger for his mother and father only surged. He saw their selfishness and desire to raise him the _Light_ way kept him from living a life in the bright place the Dark Lord had established. It didn’t matter who they had been, because he wasn’t them. He was free to enjoy it all and, truthfully, so were they. The only thing that kept them from it all, was them. And they had been holding him back, too. He had imagined achieving a good life in a glum, dim world with skies that were blue but felt grey, thanks to them.

“Merlin, you’ve gotten a tan.” Was the first thing Sirius had said when he saw Harry in late August, after not a single visit since he was dropped off at the townhouse.

Kreacher seemed to make a point by only serving tea to Harry.

Sirius gave him a sack of galleons to buy school supplies. “I’ve already gotten everything.” Harry said. “Been living fine, got a job at Flourish and Blotts.” He told him, taking pleasure in the shiny sadness in his godfather’s eyes, the bags under them, and the wrinkles that aged him ten years in two months.

“Oh.” Sirius said. “I had given Kreacher gold to buy food and stuff.” He tried. “Did he get everything alright?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Is that all?” He made his voice as cold as he could.

Sirius left with a quiet goodbye.

And Harry would never admit he cried himself to sleep early that night.

**V.**

“Are you ready for O.W.L.’s this year?” Draco asked him on the Hogwarts Express, in a cramped compartment.

Harry was resting his head on his chest, watching out the window to watch the hills roll by. He didn’t answer quickly enough, maybe, because Blaise Zabini had spoken up. “Harry’s already taken O.W.L.’s for three classes.”

“Woah. Really?” Draco questioned.

“Astronomy, Herbology, and History of Magic.” Harry answered himself, this time. “Didn’t want to pursue the N.E.W.T. for them so I wanted to get them out of the way, as soon as possible.”

“Do you know what you want to do already, outside of Hogwarts?” Pansy Parkinson asked.

Harry fantasized with the idea of becoming a politician to encourage anti-muggle laws to spite his mother, but thought he’d rather choose something he would enjoy. He just didn’t know what he’d enjoy yet. “No.” He said.

“I’m going to be a Death Eater.” Draco declared. “Like my father and grandfather.”

“Please, if any of us is going to be a Death Eater, it’s going to be Harry.” Pansy giggled.

Pairs of eyes all turned towards him. Harry turned away from the window and stared blankly back at Pansy. “You do know who my family is.” He said, slowly. “I doubt the Dark Lord could trust me enough to Mark me.”

“Besides, the standards for Death Eaters have gone down since of the war with France.” Theodore threw in. “People could probably join just by asking the right people.”

“I can’t wait until we win. Wine just isn’t the same unless it’s French.” Daphne commented. The mood was, effectively, lightened.

Harry found no change in his life at Hogwarts, despite what had occurred over the summer. He was happy for it. He worked as hard as he’d done before, excelling even as the magic grew harder and the workload got heavier. He stopped attending Quidditch matches to score more time in at the library to ensure he didn’t fall behind.

He managed to stay out of trouble for a good month, before he got into an argument with Hermione Granger. For the first time, he’d referred to muggleborns as mudbloods. In a classroom full of Gryffindors, it hadn’t been well-received and she was the first one to speak out. Professor Rosier didn’t interfere, at first, watching from his desk as the drama unfolded.

“You can’t say that!” She told him. “It’s a slur! Isn’t your mother a muggleborn? How would she feel if she heard you say that!”

Likely because he was in no mood for a fight, he merely pulled out his wand and cursed her with a new spell he’d just learned in Dark Arts. She had to be sent to the Hospital Wing after she started coughing up blood and he went unpunished, mostly. No points were taken and he received no detention, nor a scolding from any professor, but his House began to make minimal contact with him. Even the fraction of the Gryffindors who were fine under the Dark Lord’s rule kept away from him. It was only the youngest of the House that didn’t avoid him, mostly anyways.

Draco had congratulated him when word reached the Slytherins. “I hate Granger. She never stops talking.” He said.

Harry agreed.

**VI.**

On Halloween, in his fifth year, Harry was summoned to the Headmaster’s office. He hadn’t even done anything, he had thought, but he went obediently. It was best to avoid the Headmaster’s wrath. But Headmaster Snape had been waiting outside of his office, leading him past the guardian statue up the stairway. Sitting at the man’s desk was someone Harry just barely recognized.

“Harry Potter.” The Dark Lord Voldemort greeted, offering a sharp-toothed smile. “Take a seat.” He gestured towards the chair opposite of him, on the other side of the desk.

He quickly sat down. Snape exited the office.

“Can you dare to take a guess as to why I’m here?” You-Know-Who asked.

Harry shook his head, slow.

“Last year, Barty, or Professor Crouch as you know him, administered a test to see which students seemed skilled enough to become Death Eaters. Students who I could initiate into my ranks before graduation.” He said. “I was expecting no one to successfully cast the Killing Curse, but I was hoping that the results would direct me to students who went without hesitant to cast it or, perhaps, made their rat a tad ill. You, Harry Potter, performed well beyond my expectations.”

“I killed the rat.” Harry said.

“Yes.” The Dark Lord _purred_. Harry swallowed.

“And I…Exceeded your expectations.” He added. “Which is,” He licked his lips. “Good, right?”

“Oh, it’s very good.” The Dark Lord said. “I’ve been watching you very closely since, examining your past and every bit of information that could be gathered about you. And it’s all _very pleasing_ , Harry.”

“Do you want me to be a Death Eater?” Harry asked, the realization finally striking.

“I do.” The Dark Lord answered. He looked directly into Harry’s eyes.

A blast of pain slammed into him, spreading from his eyes down to his gums and through the back of his head. It sunk down to his neck and shoulders. His mouth opened unwillingly and he wanted to scream, so desperately, or to move, to react in some way, but he was frozen in place. Behind all of the pain, there was flashes of his entire life.

Playing Quidditch with his family when it was nice enough outside, his mother cheering them on from the ground came the most clearly, first. Then there was a flash of Remus Lupin, followed by the gloom that wrapped around the cottage when he was taken. His father coming home, half-conscious, supported by his godfather came, too. There a good, long, blur, until he experienced his last memory with his mother in slow-motion. It ended with him being told to go to the Headmaster’s office by Colin Creevey.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had struck him. Harry whimpered and, if he was standing, he would’ve fallen. He couldn’t maintain his posture, slumping. He didn’t feel an ounce of energy in his bones.

“What did you do?” He managed to whisper.

“I looked into your mind.” The Dark Lord said. “To see, truly, if you are worthy.”

Harry wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a broken cry. His eyes slid shut. The last thing he heard, was the Dark Lord telling him, “You _are_.”

**VII.**

When he woke up, he was where he’d fallen unconscious. The Dark Lord was drinking from a porcelain cup.

“Good to see you’re awake.” The Dark Lord said.

“What,” Harry began. “The fuck. Is that how you recruit all your Death Eaters? Fucking invading their minds like a,” He struggles. “A mind rapist!”

The Dark Lord looked amused. “I see there’s a lasting effect on your inhibitions.” He said. “Luckily for you, it’s only amusing to me. For now.”

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. “Sorry.” He squeaked.

“There it snaps back.” The Dark Lord grinned. “Now, Harry Potter,” He set his cup of tea down. “Would you like to be a Death Eater?”

“Don’t you already know the answer?” Harry asked.

“I’d still like for you to say it.” The Dark Lord said.

It must’ve been an impulse, the effects of You-Know-Who ripping through his mind, because when Harry opened his mouth, he said, “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> So....what you think?


End file.
